#possibly dark starker

[starker-raving-mads]

Vampire Slayer AU

Peter Parker was Queen's resident vampire slayer.

Most of the time, it was pretty okay. He went to his cheerleading practice, he staked a few vamps around the graveyard, and he hung out with his besties in between. Steve and Bucky were inseparable, of course, and Wanda and her boyfriend Vis were doing their whole wican-witch thing which was pretty cool, and Strange - the vampire who was obsessed with him in like a byronic hero kind of way, weirdly - followed him around like a puppy any time he was outside of his apartment or school.

It was, well, an existence he supposed.

But his favorite part of the day was hanging out in the library with Mr. Stark. Stark was his Watcher (which sent a thrill through Peter like nothing else the first time the man had said it, making him think about all the things he could watch him do) and the gang's resident tech-and-occult expert. The man was like sex incarnate and Peter could not resist from flirting with him.

Innuendos made while bending over a library table to read out of an ancient text.

Cheerleading skirt riding a little too high on his thigh, showing off his spanx.

Pulling the older man closer than was necessary when danger turned their way.

Peter was obsessed. The rest of the gang didn't get it, insisted that Mr. Stark saw him as "just some kid" or even "you're like a son to him" but Peter saw the way Stark's eyes followed him. The dark want that shadowed his face whenever Peter did something particularly clever or flexible. How the man hid behind the library counter when Peter came in, dripping from his post-workout shower.

And if the teen was anything, it was ambitious and willing to go after what he wanted. And, oh, how he wanted his Watcher.

[babybatscreationsv2]

Almost Romance

Marvel | Starker

Peter doesn't like the things Tony does to him. It doesn't make it any easier when Tony says that he loves him, but he can pretend that it does.

Rating: Explicit

For @vaguekiwi

Warnings and tags below***

Warnings/tags: Rape and rape kink, praise kink, painful sex, rough sex, possessive Tony, cum play, cum marking, breath play/passout, dark fic

Tony put all of his weight on his hands, pushing Peter down into the bed. He was tired now. The tears fell much slower. He barely even tried to move though the occasional squirm made Tony throb. He hadn't even put the whole thing in yet.

"Tony..." Peter breathed. Tony inhaled, closed his eyes, soaked up the sound of his name on those sweet lips.

"That's a good boy," Tony murmured softly. He placed a kiss on Peter's cheek. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed.

"Please stop," he tried again. The sound of it was already burned into his mind. He'd jack off to for the rest of his life.

"Stop what, Peter? Stop raping you? But it feels so good." He pushed himself in a little deeper, into the heaven that was Peter's hot silky insides. The boy whined and squirmed. He could barely move against Tony's weight.

"You're so fucking soft. And tight," he panted. "Fucking squeezing me, baby."

"Don't do this," Peter pleaded.

"Don't be scared, Peter. I'm barely even hurting you. You've had way worse."

Peter sobbed. He turned his face into the bed. Tony grabbed his hair and turned his head back, but the sharp pain had the boy fighting again, clawing at his wrist and squirming under him. So Tony bucked his hips. He forced his cock inside, all the way, his hips against that perky ass. Peter screamed, but he was distracted enough for Tony to get his arms behind his back.

He fucked him slow and deep, riding him into the bed while he cried. "Such a good boy," Tony purred again. "That's my boy."

He was less coherent as he picked up the pace. Peter laid limp and sniffling. Tony fucked him like he was trying to hurt him with his dick alone.

"I know it hurts, baby. I just can't get deep enough," he breathed against his neck. He left sloppy kisses on every bit of skin he could reach. "I need to be inside you. All the way. Need to be close to you. I love you so much, Peter."

Peter seemed to freeze beneath him. "You love me?" he said. But Tony took it as an 'I love you too'. He grabbed one of his hips and pulled the boy back against him as he pushed forward, making sure he came as deep as possible inside him.

He moaned happily and laid over his back. Tony kissed every part of him that he could reach. "You're all mine now. My cum's gonna soak up inside you. Into your blood. Become part of you. I'll be inside you forever."

Peter sobbed once again. His whole body shuddered.

Tony slept more soundly than he could ever remember with Peter wrapped up in his arms. The boy slipped away first thing in the morning, but Tony was happy. Every time he looked at him, he knew his cum was still in there. Peter couldn't meet his eye for a few days, but whatever was bothering him passed eventually. He should have been happy that Tony wanted him so badly. He was beautiful and so perfect that Tony had to resort to extremes to have him.

It was an itch that got under his skin any time Peter was too close. He found himself thinking about the way Peter struggled and cried even during what was a casual conversation. After a while he reached down to adjust himself, not noticing until then that he'd gotten hard. Just watching Peter's pretty pink lips move, hearing that voice. He was only a man.

Peter's smile faded as his eyes flicked down to Tony's crotch. His cheeks turned red.

"You alright, Pete?" Tony asked. He held in a smirk. The boy looked so vulnerable.

"I should get going. I'm not feeling great." Peter moved to leave, but Tony grabbed his arm. He froze.

"Stay." Tony kissed his neck and Peter shivered.

"Please don't..." he said.

Tony's free hand slipped up Peter's shirt, feeling his strong abdomen as he sucked a bruise into his skin. Peter whined at the pain. When he tried to move away, Tony easily pulled him back. He popped open Peter's jeans and slipped his hand inside to fondle his soft cock and that's when Peter started to panic again.

"Stop it," he shoved him away.

Tony's eyes narrowed at him. He pushed him back against the table behind him and down until he was off balance, feet off the floor, hands scrambling.

"Please please," Peter sobbed. Tears welled in those pretty eyes.

"You're mine, Peter. Don't be so dramatic. You know I have to have you."

"Just..." Peter's voice broke. He turned his face away.

"Just what, baby?"

"Just..." he took a shaky breath. "Say it again," he said, but it came out so soft that Tony wasn't sure.

"Say what, Peter?"

"Just... just tell me. If you're gonna- gonna-"

"If I'm gonna rape you."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah. Tell me what you said."

Tony smiled. "Does that make it easier? Poor Petey. You're such a sweet little thing. Do you see why I need you so bad?" He kissed a line up his throat, over his chin, until he reached his mouth. With their lips brushing together he said, "I love you."

Peter's chest heaved as he sobbed. But he didn't fight as Tony reached his hand down into his pants again. He rubbed him and stroked him while he forced kisses onto his slack lips, tongue dipping inside his mouth making him shudder and cry. Peter's cock barely stiffened, but Tony was satisfied. He stepped back from the table only to pull Peter down to the floor.

The boy started to cry again as Tony pulled his dick out of his pants. "Please don't," he sobbed.

Tony held his dick in one hand and Peter's hair in the other. He ran the tip over his soft cheeks, across his forehead, over his chin, like he was marking him.

"Open." Peter parted his lips just enough for Tony to stuff his cock inside. Teeth scraped against him and he didn't even care. He was back inside of Peter where he belonged. He stood over him panting, cock resting on the boy's tongue. He pet Peter's hair, fingers running through to gently scratch his nails over his scalp.

"That's a good boy. My good boy. I love you, Peter." He stroked his cheek as tears rolled down. Peter's jaw slacked just a little bit more, enough for him to move. Tony loved this scared, hesitant, compliance. So he went slowly, more running his cock over his tongue than fucking his mouth, but that was okay if Peter didn't want to close his lips. When the head of his cock prodded at the back of his throat it spasmed around him. Peter choked and jerked back, but Tony just pinned his head against the table to hold him in place.

It was almost better than his ass. The slow gentle violence of making the both gag until he wretched with lazy soft thrusts of his hips, until the panic found him and he fought again. Tony stopped fucking his mouth to get ahold of his wrists. He pulled Peter's arms back and pinned his wrists against the table with one hand.

"Don't make things harder, baby. I'm cumming down your throat one way or another." He grabbed his jaw as Peter clenched it shut. "Open up so I can rape your mouth. You know I can make you if I have to."

Glaring and sniffling, Peter did what he was told. Tony sighed as he stuffed his cock back inside. Peter's lips closed around him, not sucking, but still wrapping him in wet heat. He took advantage of those lips, fucking the ring of his mouth just to know every part of him belonged to Tony. Going deeper still made him gag, but there was nowhere for him to go. Tony had him pinned down well. And he loved the way he struggled when Tony forced himself into his throat. Especially as he ran out of air and his eyes began to flutter.

He pulled out to let him breathe and Peter begged him to stop with all of his precious air until he cut him off again.

"Should I cum right here down your throat? Or all over your face? It's a tough choice." Tony mused. "Of course, if it's on your face you'll just wash it off won't you? Better to leave it where it'll stay with you for a while."

Peter whined around his dick. Tony could just imagine that he was begging him to cum down his throat, to make him inside, to make sure he knows who he belongs to.

He let the boy breathe one more time, then he stuffed his cock back in his mouth and fucked his throat like he'd fucked his ass. Bruising and selfish. Peter cried, scared and hurting, and it just brought Tony to the edge that much faster. He thrashed as his lungs burned without air, but Tony held back until he stilled. Peter's eyes grew heavy, fluttering delicately at him. His mouth slacked. His struggling became weak little twitches. And that's when Tony went as deep into his throat as he could without breaking it. And he came, imagining his cum sliding down his throat, through his body, down into his stomach.

When he pulled out, Peter jolted, but he didn't start breathing again until Tony slapped him. He gasped, leaning over into Tony's hands. Tony knelt down and pulled him into his arms. He pets his hair.

“You did so good, baby. You're my good boy.”

Peter cleaned into his chest, crying against him. Tony smiled. “I love you, baby.”

[voxofthevoid]

konnichiwa, vox-sama ✌️

it seems like everyone is having fun since wednesday, huh?

wanna join this club too if it's possible, pleasepleaseplease

what would i ask of you? jeez, tough choice + others' preferences are partly mine

- voyeurism

- hickeys/marks on skin

- causing and soothing the pain

- something sweet

thank you and your inner source of ideas 🩵

Y'know, I was thinking yesterday that you seemed to have missed this week's shenanigans. Good to see you!

I've picked snippets of ~200 words from four different fics.

There's voyeurism, joint shower, face slapping, and a marriage proposal, in that order. The last one is stealth angst because it's from the Amnesia Fic.

Voyeurism, ft. itagofushi from i can offer you a black-lit paradise

At least Itadori’s clearly not complaining. His hands are almost reverent as they slide down Gojou’s chest, palming the skin he fought so hard to bare. And there’s that same, damning familiarity drenching every touch. Fingers splaying wide, trying and failing to grasp the entire expanse of Gojou’s chest. Hands encircling the thick column of Gojou’s throat, a gesture that should by all rights be threatening somehow turned into hungry affection. Megumi doesn’t understand how or why Itadori touches Gojou like that, but he knows he doesn’t want to either.

He’s not surprised when he lifts his gaze and runs into nuclear blue.

“Don’t worry, Megumi,” Gojou murmurs, his voice too gentle to be trusted. “I’m sure you’ll pack on some meat there soon—ow! Yuuji.”

Megumi ignores the whine and the pout, staring at Itadori’s fingers clamped on Gojou’s nipples. They’re pink. He remembers that. Right now, they’re not even visible, swallowed by Itadori’s crushing grip.

He tugs, hard and mean.

Gojou just moans.

“Honestly,” Itadori sighs, pulling on the nipples again. “I don’t get why you’re being such an ass to Fushiguro.”

“He, uh, he likes it,” Gojou says absently, his mind clearly lodged in the flesh Itadori is bullying.

Hickeys/marks on skin, ft. goyuu from (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

Yuuji lets out a measured breath and goes to retrieve the soap. When he turns around, the sight of Satoru, every inch of his naked skin dripping wet, hits him like a freight train, and Yuuji doesn’t stop or even falter, but his face or body must do something because Satoru’s expression morphs into smug satisfaction. He leans against the tiled wall, head tilted back and chest thrust out to let the shower spray hit his chest and sluice down in gentler streams.

His pale skin almost glows under the bright bathroom lights, but it’s the reds and pinks littering his torso that take Yuuji’s breath away. All the bleeding stopped long ago, but the bite marks and bruises seem starker. It looks different like this—more real, more violent. Maybe because of the wetness or maybe because Satoru’s upright. Yuuji’s mouth grows hot, his teeth aching with want and his tongue thrumming with memory.

His eyes trail down, taking in the sculpted stomach marred by teeth and suction, the weirdly cute belly button, and the snowy trail of short hairs before landing and snagging on the metalwork between the legs.

Causing and soothing pain, ft. goyuu from (the euphoric taste of your tears) swallow it, darling

“It’s none of your business who I fuck.”

“You made it my business,” Yuuji tells him; he doesn’t say, You made yourself mine.

Satoru shudders like he heard it anyway, eyes going dark and hot.

But this boy has never wanted with grace.

“You just wanted an excuse to be a fucking pervert—”

Yuuji slaps him.

Satoru looks delicate, his features fine and fey, but he isn’t, not even a little, and Yuuji has always treated him like that. His hand impacts flesh hard enough to make his own palm sting, and Satoru’s head snaps to the side with a sound that reverberates in the air between them.

He doesn’t make a single sound. Yuuji’s palm print grows bright on his cheek.

Yuuji dips his head, pressing his cheek to Satoru’s.

It’s hot.

“Don’t provoke me,” Yuuji says softly. “I’m already giving you what you want. Don’t be greedy.”

Satoru says nothing, makes no sound, and Yuuji stays there, rubbing his cheek gently against Satoru’s burning one until his own perpetually cool skin leeches off some of that warmth. He turns his head then, kissing Satoru where he hurt him, and that does earn him a noise—a low, gutted thing.

“Understand, Satoru-kun?”

Something sweet, ft. goyuu from the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too)

"I was only thinking—can’t have some nubile young thing snatch you away from under my nose. Gotta put a ring on it before you realize you’re with an old pervert.”

Yuuji makes another noise, but he’s laughing too, a throaty noise that’s more incredulous than amused. “Nobody’s snatching me away. And you’re barely over thirty, that’s not old. Japan doesn’t even recognize same-sex marriage.”

“Who cares?” Satoru sits up, the covers spilling down to pool in his lap. The room is dark, but the Six Eyes see every shadow in high definition until Satoru closes his eyes again, focusing only on the sound of Yuuji’s breathing. “Only you and I need to recognize it. A ceremony would be fun, hm? We can have another one when you’re back here, with everyone there.”

Yuuji swallows audibly. “Are you really serious?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Yuuji laughs again, that same strangled sound from before. “You’re unreal sometimes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Yuuji’s dead silent for long enough that Satoru’s smile dies on his lips, slinking cold down his spine.

Yuuji says, “You didn’t actually ask a question.”

Ah, Satoru thinks, forcing down a shiver. You learned the worst things from me.

“Marry me, Yuuji.”

“Yes.” It’s instant, burning. “Of course I’ll marry you. Satoru, it’s you.”

[welurklate]

In defence of Ron Weasley - or: why Weasley is our King!

I have noticed that in the last decade so-called Ron-bashing has almost become a sport in the Harry Potter fandom, or at least in certain corners of the fandom. And that makes me quite sad, because in my eyes it is unjustified and a product of circumstances that have nothing to do with the canon character. People depict Ron as a laughing stock, a truly incompetent wizard who is nothing but jealous and petty. Even in fanfics where Ron is an adult he rarely outgrows his teenage character. I believe this has to do with a few thing I will get into here.

First and foremost, we have to take a stance and decide if we believe that redemption is possible or not. If you think that once a fruit shows signs of rot it is better to throw out than to salvage it, stop reading here. If you think there are parts that can be saved and possibly restored, you are probably a Draco fan as well 😉 and you're welcome to read on.

So first of all, everything we see the characters do in the books they do as children and teenagers. Adolesence is a time of great changes, physically and psychologically. The prefrontal lobe of our brain still develops until our mid-twenties. It is a time to experiment and to make decisions, even if they are objectively the wrong ones, and to learn from that and to evolve into well-adjusted, open-minded and self-reflecting adults. So it isn’t even necessary to ‘redeem’ oneself for what you did growing up, it is just imperative to evolve. I have been working with teenagers my whole professional life and I am always amazed by what happens between the ages of 10 and 20/25.

So Ron is a child in the first books and an adolescent in the final parts and we actually see him grow and evolve. Not everyone is as perfect as Hermione and we sometimes forget that people can be flawed in small ways (not only in big ways such as ‘oops, I’ve taken the dark mark and commit war crimes’). I think people tend to hate on Ron because of this. He is so normal in his jealousy and his envy. We see a lot of ourselves in him and that is uncomfortable. We turn to fiction to experience the extraordinary in both good and bad, but we rarely want to see our very common shortcomings reflected in the characters. Because then we could just read self-help books and do something about it. But we don’t. We just want to escape reality and enter into worlds where everything is starker in contrast, emotions are deeper and stakes are higher.

And Ron is not such a character. He is a mild grey. He is not the hero, but he is also not the villain. Ambiguity and nuance have very little place in fantasy. But I think that is exactly what makes Ron such a great character and the books (despite JKR’s bigotism) so fascinating.

So what I see people do in fanfiction is to push his character to the extremes – mostly make him an antagonist. Interestingly, this usually occurs in in Dramione or Harmony fics. In Drarry fics or others where Hermione and Ron stay together, he usually gets to grow up into a reasonable and well-adjusted adult. And I get it. I love Hermione and I get what she sees in Ron (stability, a deep understanding, loyalty, common values, a wise mind that complements her academic one etc.). But in stories where we pair Hermione with other people we need to get Ron out of the way. Because we cannot, for the love of Merlin, make Hermione be the problematic one in the relationship (she is the queen of the books - she cannot be touched). So of course we have to make sure that Ron is the reason why their relationship fails. And to make their breakup believable, we antagonize Ron so that there is no chance for them to get back together. From a storytelling viewpoint this makes absolute sense. But it does not do Ron’s character justice. Canon Ron is a truly amazing character. The movies did him dirty and depicted him as the slightly stupid one with the punch lines and this has often clouded our image of him. Book Ron holds much more power in the trio's friendship. He is the one who introduces Hermione and Harry to all things in the Wizarding World. He is smart – even though he is not as zealous as Hermione, he is a good student and a brilliant wizard’s chess player. He is genuine, kind and loyal. I won’t reiterate all the smart things people have said about his character before. If you are interested you can check some good arguments here:

here, here or here

Everything he is and everything he goes through makes him a hero in his own way. He is the character with the biggest development and the biggest potential. He overcomes his own shortcomings again and again to stay by Harry's side. Especially in the last books he struggles, makes decisions he deeply regrets and faces his insecurities.

I could go on and on about this… but leave it at this for now. I hope this makes you see Ron in a better light! Fight me in the comments or sing along my praise of Ron!

tl;dr: Ron is a truly interesting character but the movies and fanon have skewed his image in a negative way.

[starkwub]

(Tw: Starkercest)

Mob boss! Tony and his son, Peter (super out of the blue idea (considering I usually never write mob Au's), but figured I'd write it down ha!)

Just thought of Mob boss Tony allowing Peter, his prized possession son, go out on his own to live life since the boy had been harping about it for ages. Peter wanted to feel like all the other kids in his class. He didn't want body guards or exuberant allowances--nothing.

Tony of course couldn't say no after having done so for years-but that didn't mean he wouldn't be tricky about it.

Peter didn't have to know that he hired people to go to his house and be sketchy--knocking on the door at strange hours of the night or tampering with his window. Perhaps even telling the men to make creeping sounds within the home, just so Peter might feel more afraid of being on his own. He'd get people to stare at him on the streets, or following him after a late night shift at work in a dark hoodie with a jangling set of keys in their pockets so the boy would know they were there.

At first Peter wasn't all too fazed--thinking that it was just another one of 'dad's undercover body guards', but after a while--with his Dad denying the accusations and having not recognized any of the gruff and uneasy looking faced that met his gaze, the paranoia started to set in.

When it got to the point where Peter couldn't sleep for hardly a wink before startling at a creak in the floorboards or a brushing knock at his door--he did the only thing he possibly could think to do in that instance.

Call his Dad.

Sniffling, Peter grappled for his phone in the dark and clicked on his dad's profile, hearing the dial on the other end and then the un-familar beeping.

Why wasn't he picking up?. He always picked up.

It had been nearly 15 seconds before the beeping stoped and then came a sleep-laden voice on the other end.

"What is it baby? It's late, you should be asleep by now."

Peter shivered at the comforting voice and huddled a bit in the bed, pulling the blankets up and over top of his knees.

"Dad I.." He sniffled, looking worryingly at his bedroom door,

"I wanna come home. Just to visit--of course."

When his dad pressed on the topic, wonder why such a sudden thought had crossed his mind at three am, Peter just pouted and wrapped an arm around his knees tightly.

"Haven't seen you in a while s'all.." and suddenly his tone turned sour, "Why? You don't want me there?"

Tony coo'd and seemed to ruffle his bedding on the other side of the phone before speaking in a tone that Peter knew all too well.

"Of course I want to see you baby. Wish you where here right now so all you had to do was knock on my door, crawl into bed, and tell Daddy what's wrong instead of calling from a state that's a million miles away."

Daddy. Peter's heart thumped in his chest wildly at the honorific. It'd been so long..too long, since he'd heard it.

"It's not a million, jeez.." Peter retorted, suddenly remembering back to what it felt like to be with his Dad. His room somehow was always so much warmer than his own, and as he flexed his fingers to feel them stiffen from the chill, he sighed.

"I'll see you tomorrow then? I'm off with this weekend so I'll let them know I can't do any overtime."

"Mm.." Tony hummed, shuffling a bit more, "Alright sweetheart."

They stayed on the line for a few moments longer, and as Peter yawned, now letting his body slip back down to the crappy mattress, he breathed out against his phone.

"Want me to stay on the line?"

Peter nodded sleepily, knowing that his Dad couldn't see it, nor hear it, so he let out a muffled hum of his own, enjoying the subtle deep chuckle that came from his father's throat in response.

-- -- --

There can always be more, but I'm going to stop it here and count it as a win that I've finally written and posted something on here again XD I've been so enamored by the Harry Potter fandom as of late so my mind has taken to straying away from Starker more than usual

Hope everyone is doing okay! :)

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Earth & Fire

Chapter III - A guest or a queen

07/22/2023

Pairing: Hades (Hozier) x Anthea (OFC)

Word Count: 5,553

Warnings: language

Summary: Anthea is settling in in the Underworld, and while Hades is trying his best to make her stay as pleasant as possible, there are others who make the situation a lot more difficult than it already is.

A/N: Are you ready to meet some new characters? Enjoy!

Earth & Fire - Masterpost

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Stones and rocks and stones and more rocks. This place seemed to consist of nothing else. Apart from darkness and despair, and yet another river they had crossed on their way. Flames, blue as the one inside Charon’s lantern, rose from it to lick at the air and devour everyone who was foolish enough to get too close. 

The god in front of her hadn’t cared to tell her its name. In fact, he hadn’t uttered a single word since their departure from the riverbank. Not even when, at last, a massive black building had come into view. His palace, Anthea guessed, seeing that most of the other inhabitants of the Underworld probably had no need for a dwelling as big as this. Still, it wasn’t as huge as she had expected it to be. It was almost modest considering that he was one of the big three, and the ruler of this whole realm. Even on the inside it lacked the pompous furnishings and decorations Anthea had thought to find. There were mortal kings’ palaces who were more sumptuous than his. Not that Anthea had seen any, but her father had told her about a few and at least in her imagination they were more worthy of a god than this building ever could be. 

Especially since instead of using his name, many mortals used to call him Plouton, the wealthy one. As the ruler of the Underworld, all of the earth’s treasures that hid underground belonged to him. Naturally, she had assumed to find precious metals like gold or silver and the finest jewels, and not the dark obsidian he had chosen for the floors and walls, and occasionally even for the ceilings.

Above their heads, more blue flames seemed to float in the air, their cold light reflecting from the polished stone to lead their way down the indistinguishable corridors. They seemed to have walked forever, every step luring her deeper into his labyrinth of darkness, and as they finally stopped in front of a large two-winged door, Anthea was sure that, should she ever want to escape this place, it would be impossible to find her way out of it.

“These are your rooms,” he plainly stated as he pushed the door open and stepped aside to make room for her.

She didn’t know exactly what she had expected, probably a plain room, nothing better than a prison cell. It would have suited her under the circumstances of her stay here, but what her eyes found on the other side of the door was as far from a prison cell as one could possibly imagine. 

Anthea was greeted by rich hues of pink and purple. The contrast to the cool blue that the rest of this realm seemed to be drenched in couldn’t be any starker. The light radiated off a myriad of crystals that were placed in several alcoves all around the room. She had never seen anything as splendid as this before. 

“This is the ante-chamber.” Another plain statement, as if the magic of the room didn’t affect him at all. “And through there you will find the bedchamber and a bath.” He pointed to another door at the far end of the room. “I assume you must be exhausted from your journey.”

Anthea didn’t reply at first, too stunned by the splendour in front of her, when her senses suddenly caught a motion and she turned to find that he was about to leave.

“Wait!” she almost shouted at him in the panic that had befallen her and was quick to add a much softer, “Please.”

It wouldn’t have been necessary, she realised, as he had followed her request anyway and was already turning to face her again. As much as one could call it that with his hood still veiling his countenance.

“Please, my lord, will you let me see your face?”

There was a reluctance in his movement, but once again he did as she had asked of him. Slender fingers clutched the black fabric of his hood and slowly pushed it back until she could see him clearly. He was beautiful, not in the least what she had anticipated, but beautiful none the less. Wild curls, falling all the way down to his shoulders, framed his long face. Its features were well sculpted with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Half of the milky skin of his face was covered by a beard, a little lighter in colour as the hair on his head, with a touch of red as far as she could tell in this light. 

It was hard to imagine that this god was in any way related to Zeus, let alone that he was his brother. They seemed to be polar opposites, especially when it came to their eyes, she thought, as his gaze met hers. They were kind eyes, compassionate, reminding her so much of her father’s eyes, even though Hephaestus’ eyes were blue and not green as the pair that was observing her carefully right now.

“How…” There had been a question forming in the back of her mind, but she needed to collect her thoughts for a moment before the words finally aligned in her head. “How can you be so sure Zeus won’t find me here?”

“Because he never sets foot into the Underworld.”

“What makes you think he won’t consider it now?”

Her question had brought the tiniest hint of a smile to his lips.

“He doesn’t dare. My brothers and I draw a huge amount of our power from our realms, which in turn makes each of us more powerful than the other in our own territories.”

“Is that why you never go to Olympus?” Her father had told her that he wasn’t the only one who kept avoiding that place. Apparently, a few other gods also chose to stay away from Olympus. Hades’ name had been among those Hephaestus had listed.

“No, I choose not to go there because I don’t give much about gossip and schemes.”

His answer made her smile. “Neither do I.” But then she became serious again. “Still, you’re his brother. Poseidon’s brother as well, and everyone knows he is no different when it comes to his…appetite. How can I be sure you are not like them?”

“You can’t. And you are wise not to trust me or anyone on that matter.” He paused for a moment, leaving her to simmer in the unease his words had caused. “I take it you haven’t seen much of the world outside your home. Being careful as you get to know more of it is a wise way to start. Still I fear, my word is all I can offer. I gave it to your father and I will give it you. Choose for yourself whether that will be enough.”

Patiently he waited, giving her time to weigh his offer, a task that was harder than it seemed. How could she trust someone she had only met today? And a god at that. For all she knew there wasn’t a single god who didn’t lie or cheat to get what they wanted. And if anything, his words had only confirmed that opinion. Still, as she looked into his eyes now, she thought that for a second she might have glimpsed something deep within, something that he had kept well hidden until now. And that was all she needed.

“I will take it.”

He nodded silently before he turned to leave again. He hesitated for a moment, as if he expected her to ask another question, but when she didn’t, he began walking towards the door. 

“Rest now. I will send someone to show you around later.”

Hades kept word. However, in the everlasting gloom of the Underworld, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he had left her. Minutes, hours, days, it all felt the same to Anthea. All she knew was that she did not feel rested at all when the soft knock on her door woke her. It seemed to come from far away, muffled by two sets of thick doors, and just as she thought she had only imagined it, it came again, a little more determined this time. 

Anthea had already gotten up and crossed half of the distance when the knocking sounded again.

“My lady?” a voice asked, velvety, yet unable to veil the thinning patience that lay underneath, and as Anthea pulled the dark wood aside, she was greeted by an already scowling beauty, her foot tapping the ground restlessly. 

Her black hair shimmered in the blue light as she turned her head to look at Anthea, a defying stare, two catlike orbs of greenish blue eyeing the new arrival to the Underworld suspiciously. 

“Lady Anthea, I assume.” And when Anthea was too stunned by the hostile glare the other woman still sent her, the raven-haired vision rolled her stunning eyes and pressed past her. “I am Minthe, daughter of the river-god Cocytus. My king has asked me to show you around the palace.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Minthe.” It wasn’t a delight really, but her father had taught her better than to be unkind to strangers who offered their help.

Minthe clearly hadn’t been as fortunate, as she just huffed, extending her arms towards Anthea, who just now realised that she was carrying something. “He also asked me to bring you this, in case you wanted to change into some clean clothes.”

Minthe’s gaze burned as she looked her up and down, signalling that even though Hades had been polite enough to leave the decision to Anthea, it was probably necessary to change after her arduous journey.

“Thank you. How very thoughtful and kind of Lord Hades.”

Anthea had already taken the peplos from Minthe and hurried back into the bedroom to put it on, when a reply came through the doors left ajar.

“I wouldn’t think too much of it. It is a customary token of hospitality, not one of sympathy.”

“Either way,” Anthea stepped into the ante-chamber again, a purple peplos, richly embroidered with golden flowers at the seams, enveloping her body, “it is the most beautiful piece of clothing I’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing.”

“Is that so? I thought I heard someone say you were the daughter of a god…”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Well, clearly he doesn’t care about you much, or he would have endowed you with some finer clothes than the colourless rag you arrived in,” Minthe sneered, obviously very pleased with herself.

“Your misjudgement is forgivable, as you obviously don’t know my father. Because if you did, you would know that he cares more about a person’s character than their looks. The eyes can easily be deceived by beauty, but the heart will always reveal a person’s true colours.”

The naiad huffed again, “A shame purple doesn’t seem to match your true colours then.”

It was also a shame her father clearly hadn’t cared more about his daughter, teaching her that beauty was worth more than manners, probably even making her believe that it was the whole point of her, the only purpose for which she was born to attract an honourable suitor. But Anthea didn’t say that. After all, what good was to come of it?

“How about we start that tour of the palace you mentioned then? That way the look of me in this mismatched peplos won’t trouble you longer than necessary.”

Minthe’s fiery red lips twitched peculiarly, to force a grin it seemed, although it could just as easily be mistaken for a baring of teeth. 

“Very well then. This way.”

The palace was much bigger than Anthea had anticipated at her arrival. Room after room, spreading across several floors, she was shown until her feet started to ache again and her head began to spin. She would need days, probably even weeks to find her way around without getting lost. So far, all she could recall was the route to her rooms and to the library. She had paid special attention here, eager to revisit the ridiculously extensive collection of books as soon as possible. 

Minthe had also shown her the throne room with its impressive dais. It wasn’t used much, she had explained, as against common believe, the ruler of the Underworld didn’t preside over the judgement of every single soul that arrived in his realm. His attendance was reserved for special cases, mostly kings or those who had angered the gods and were facing an eternity in Tartarus. The fate of all other souls lay in the hands of the three judges, Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus.

They had also come past more guest rooms, the kitchen and servant quarters, which were astonishingly small, she had noted. The only thing they hadn’t come across yet, were Lord Hades private rooms and when Anthea dared ask about them, Minthe’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Did he not tell you?”

He obviously had not. Why else would she ask?

“They are right across the floor from yours.”

That was odd. Why would there be guest rooms in such close proximity to his private quarters?

“Oh, since we are already talking about that topic…Your rooms and his happen to share a balcony. An unfortunate detail, for you, as it means you won’t be able to use it. It would be most inappropriate to disturb the king’s rare moments of privacy, would it not?”

“It certainly would.”

Inappropriate and terribly awkward. She silently vowed not to come anywhere near that balcony for the entirety of her stay. 

“I am glad we are in agreement about that.” Minthe smiled sweetly, a strange look after the hostility she had radiated from the moment of their first encounter, but it died away as soon as it had come. “Now, there is one more thing my king asked me to tell you.” One she evidently did not like too much. “You are to dine with him tonight. He will be with you shortly.”

And without a warning the nymph pushed open the door she had stopped at and shoved Anthea in. Protest was forming on her lips, but before it had the chance to be uttered, the door fell closed behind her again and she was alone.

The room was dark, like everything else in this realm, she thought, and sparsely furnished. A huge dining table with several chairs at its centre, there was only a fireplace that immediately drew Anthea’s attention. It wasn’t the mere fact that the room had a fireplace, almost every room they had been to during their tour had, but its flame that was different.

Red and yellow flames were licking silently at the logs, real logs, not their stony substitutes she had seen all day. She had never thought a fire could spark such a rush of joy, not even in the colder winter months on Lemnos had she ever felt her stomach twirl in delight upon the sight of burning wood, but now she had to hold back a squeal as she knelt down in front of the fireplace, her hands reaching out to get as close as possible to the familiar heat.

“Are you well?”

He sounded bewildered, maybe even a little concerned, but as she looked up to find him right next to her, there was also the tiniest hint of amusement on his face.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered mechanically, her cheeks burning more fervently than the fire could have ever made them. Hastily she stood, dusting off her clothes—the new clothes he had given her—before she added, “Please excuse my unseemly behaviour. I did not hear you enter the room.”

“Nothing unseemly about enjoying a fire.”

The unexpected reply made her face him again, and what she found when she really took him in for the first time since he had appeared out of nowhere beside her, was just as unexpected. He looked even taller without his cloak, and, as she had already anticipated, much leaner. The warm light of the fire suited him however, compensating the paleness of his skin and giving it a soft golden glow. He would probably look like that if he spent more time above ground, she caught herself musing for a second, but of course he couldn’t. At least not long enough for a tan to take hold. He was wearing a black chiton, falling all the way down to his ankles. It only revealed his neck and arms, void of bulging biceps or a defined chest that spoke of his divine nature. His appearance made it easy to forget that he wasn’t a mortal like herself and somehow she took comfort in that.

Wordlessly he moved, reaching for the backrest of the chair and pulling it out for her. Anthea sat down, just as wordlessly, and long after he had taken a seat at the end of the table to her left, there was still silence between them.

“I hope you find the peplos to your liking,” he finally enquired.

“Yes, thank you, my lord. It is very beautiful.”

“I wasn’t sure about the embroidery or whether the colour was to your taste.”

She averted her gaze, fingers caressing the impossibly soft fabric that covered her thighs. “As I said, it is beautiful, my lord. I’m just not used to such extravagant clothing.”

“I thought as much. Your father also never cared for fashion.”

A soft smile spread on her lips as she thought of Hephaestus and his functional clothing. “No, indeed. He still doesn’t.”

But then her heart sank again. Her father. The wound still fresh, it ripped even deeper at the thought of him so far away from her. She wouldn’t be able to see him for a very long time. And under the almost unbearable weight of this truth, silence fell over the room again.

It was only stirred by the clatter of plates being brought in by two servants. They were loaded with food, more than the two of them would ever be able to eat in one meal. While they retreated without a sound, Hades had grabbed the bulbous jug they had placed on the table first and filled the chalice next to her plate with wine. He then repeated the same with his own chalice before he set the jug down. 

She knew it was her turn now. As the laws of hospitality demanded, the guest always was to choose their food first. And it looked delicious, calling to her empty stomach until it was almost painful to resist. 

There were different kinds of meat, the juicy lamb chops with mint smelling especially mouthwatering. Anthea could also see olives and nuts, right next to her a whole plate of creamy goat cheese and fresh figs. Beside a cruet of olive oil, the servants had placed a basket with bread, fresh out of the oven, she guessed, its insides probably still warm. For dessert they had served more fruit, pomegranate, her favourite, right under her nose. The ruby flesh that housed its seeds almost seemed to burst with juice. 

“Is the food not to your liking?” His irritated tone left her in no doubt that his patience was slowly wearing thin.

“That’s not…” Before she could even finish that sentence, a loud growl from her stomach rendered any further word useless.

Now more than ever, she could feel his gaze on her, burning the guilt she felt into her skin. From the corner of her eye she saw that he was swivelling his chalice in his hand and took it as a sign of his waning composure. Soon he would set the wine down and lash out at her for the grave insult against his hospitality. But he did nothing of the sort, and when he finally spoke again his voice was soft and understanding.

“You need to eat, even though the grief your separation from your father causes you might have silenced your hunger.”

If only he knew how wrong he was. It wasn’t grief at all that made her hold back. It was her lack of trust in him. It had been Hades himself who had told her mere hours ago that she was wise not to place her confidence in him and although her father trusted him enough to leave her in Hades’ care, Anthea knew too little about him to tell whether he meant well or, like all the other gods, had merely his own interests in mind.

“Believe me, my hunger is far from silenced, my lord.”

“What keeps you from eating then?”

She hesitated again. The reason sounded foolish enough in her head already.

“There is this rumour…”

“And what is it you have heard about the food in this realm that leads you to consider starving yourself instead of touching it?”

“They say whoever swallows even a single bite of food in the Underworld is doomed to stay here forever.”

Once again, the God of the Underworld surprised her with his reaction as he began to laugh so heartily he had to set his chalice down to keep the wine from spilling all over the table. 

“And pray tell, what good would that do? Sooner or later, every single soul is bound to end up here anyway. So why punish myself with keeping more nagging and moaning creatures around me than I already have to host?”

Anthea could feel her cheeks heat up again, scorching from humiliation—caused by her own foolishness and even more so by him calling her out for it. His words stung more than they should, especially the last part. Biting her tongue, she could feel her teeth drawing blood as she forced the words back down that more than anything she wanted to shout at him right now. Did he honestly think she enjoyed being exiled, trapped here without a single beam of sunlight, without her father, the only family she had ever known? Instead she was stuck here with him, a man as confusing as there had ever been one, who played the perfect host one moment just to make her even more miserable than she already was in the next.

Anthea kept her eyes lowered. She knew if they would find his, he would see the anger rage inside them like a storm, and she was painfully aware which consequences it could have to defy a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, for being the burden I so clearly am to you.”

His laugh died away immediately to make room for a silence that weighed heavier than any silence that had existed between them before. Anthea could feel her skin prickle from the charged air in the room, making her knead the purple fabric of her peplos fervently while she awaited the thunderstorm to unleash.

“No, forgive me,” he almost whispered. “That’s not what I meant to say at all.”

In an instant her head shot up, her eyes desperately searching for his, and when they finally met, she found nothing but truth there.

“Eat, my lady, I promise it won’t bind you to this realm or harm you in any other way.”

Anthea had excused herself and gone to bed a long while ago. Shortly after, Minthe’s head had appeared in the doorway, but he had shooed her away. He didn’t want any company tonight, especially not from her. It was only him now, and Cerberus. The huge dog lay to his feet by the fire, two of its three heads fighting for a leftover bone from dinner while the third had already given up and was slowly drifting into sleep, lulled by the warmth of the flames.

He had almost forgotten how pretty they were, dancing brightly as they feasted on the remaining wood. Soon the fire would die, like everything eventually did, reduced to nothing but ash. The eternal circle of life, his daily business.

He should stick with that. Death, souls, the Underworld—those were the things he understood and knew how to handle. Unlike his guest, he thought. It had always been like that, even before he had accepted his fate and come down here. The isolation had only amplified his reticence. 

On top of that, he had never been good at talking to people, especially women. Minthe seemed to be the only exception. She had been radiating towards him ever since they had met. Why, he didn’t know. And much less did he want her to. It had only been one time, one moment of utter loneliness that had overwhelmed him in the early days after being assigned to the Underworld. Since then, all he had done was push her away, and still she refused to take no for an answer, sticking to him like a leech, always waiting for him to change his mind.

That would never happen though because as ridiculous as it sounded coming from the God of the Underworld, if ever he would settle, it would be for love, not to feel less alone. But who would willingly choose a life with him if it entailed an eternity here? 

Anthea surely wouldn’t. Not that he wanted her to, gods no. That poor girl had enough problems already. Still she was the perfect example of the reasons people had to come here at all: to safe their own lives or to beg for someone else’s. It was always the same. No sane creature would ever journey into this realm if they weren’t on the brink of despair. There usually wasn’t much he could do for them though. The Underworld had strict rules even he had to obey, and so he sent away most of the beggars without even listening to their pleas. 

Anthea was the rare exception. And he might have driven her away like all the others if it hadn’t been for the involvement of his brother. For the longest time, Hades had been growing tired of his antics, always having to deal with its consequences and cleaning up after him. There were too many examples of havoc his relentless and utterly selfish rule had wreaked, too many souls that roamed the fields of Asphodel because Zeus had decided they were disposable. He wouldn’t allow him to destroy yet another life. Not this time. Not hers.

“Dreaming about her already, uncle?” Hades jolted in his seat. “Isn’t that a bit premature, though? I hear she has only arrived today.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Not everyone is constantly thinking of any woman as their possible next conquest.” 

He had no desire to look at his nephew, knowing full well that there was a sly grin playing on his lips, very pleased with his prickish teasing.

“Maybe not everyone is. But you certainly didn’t waste any time. Giving her the queen’s chambers…”

Hades couldn’t deny that he had indeed given her the rooms he had once built himself for the queen of this realm. A long time ago, when he had been young and foolish enough to let himself believe anyone would ever share this burden with him.

“She’s my guest, Hermes.”

“Exactly. So why not put her in one of the guest rooms?”

Hades sighed, “They are not—”

“What? Fitting?”

“No. Don’t twist my words.” Hades felt the need to get up and walk away from his insolent nephew. One arm leaned against the fireplace, he tried to let its warmth soothe him. It didn’t work. “It’s just, they are pretty and they have never been used. Probably never will. So why let them go to waste?”

Behind his back he could hear Hermes help himself to some wine.

“You like her.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Judging by the sound, he gulped down the contents of his chalice in one swig, probably eager to hit him with the next inappropriate assumption.

“But you do. And who could blame you? I mean, it’s not as if the ladies are waiting in line for you, eh? After all, she’s the first woman with a pulse to set foot into your realm since…since you took over the reigns here, I guess. And as if that wasn’t enough for you to get excited about already, she isn’t a sight for sore eyes either. That long, golden hair, like liquid rays of sunshine. And paired with those dark brown eyes…mh. They hold fire, Hades. Fire! I bet she’s an even bigger sensation between the sheets than that forest nymph I fucked during Apollo’s last orgy on Olympus. Did you even look at her properly? I mean, really look at her and those lush curves? A fertility goddess has got nothing on that mortal temptation.”

“Enough!” Hades had been feeling his hand clenching into a fist ever since the impertinent little fuck had opened his mouth again, but it was only now that it flew against the wall to silence him. “Will you listen to yourself, Hermes! No wonder that poor woman fled the mortal realm with creatures like you lurking around.”

That seemed to have done the trick. With the mischief finally wiped from his face, Hermes swallowed visibly upon the sudden outbreak, brushing one of his unruly dark curls behind his ear. When Hades spoke again, his voice was much softer.

“Anthea has been through so much, thanks to your insatiable father. She was forced to leave her home and everything she knows behind. So, to come back to your point, if there were any chambers in this realm fit to soothe her sorrow even the tiniest bit, I would give them to her. Until then, the queen’s chambers will have to do.”

“Hm,” Hermes shrugged, almost back to his old sassy self again, “it’s your palace, Hades. You can do whatever pleases you.” And then he went on in a whisper, “Even keep telling yourself that you’re not into her.”

“You’re right, Hermes. I am the ruler of this place, and as such it would very much please me if you left. But there are two matters that need to be settled first.”

“One?” Hermes asked nonchalantly while shoving an olive into his mouth.

“Did you only come here to vex me or does your visit have an actual purpose?”

“Ah, you know me too well, uncle. Actually, I was escorting a few souls to the river Styx when I ran into your little…fling.”

Honest bewilderment flitted over Hades face. “Fling?”

“Minthe.”

He couldn’t suppress the heavy roll of his eyes upon Hermes’ stupid allusion. 

“Hermes, how often do I have to tell you? She is not my fling. In fact, she is not my anything.”

“Suit yourself. Anyway, she told me about the newest addition to your household. And very eagerly so. Probably needed to get it off her chest, the jealous little thing. And you know what they say: where there is smoke… So I needed to see for myself whether the rumours are true und the King of the Dead has finally chosen his bride.”

Insufferable. “As I already told you, I have not. And just to make it clear once again: I have no intention of marrying Anthea.”

“Duly noted.”

“Which leads me to the second point.”

Hermes’ eyebrows shot up. “Go on.”

“I need you to swear an unbreakable oath that you won’t mention her stay here to any soul, living or dead.”

The messenger of the gods was silent for a while, merely for the dramatic effect, Hades assumed. And to let his uncle simmer a bit.

“And what if I don’t?”

Now it was Hades turn to sneer. “If you don’t,” he stated while he took a step towards him, his voice perfectly measured, “you will not leave this realm until it is safe for her to do the same.”

“You can’t hold me hostage here. You wouldn’t dare.”

There was a sizzle in the air as Hades’ magic came to life. In an instant, Cerberus stood by his side, all three heads baring their teeth and growling at the younger god who found himself backed up against the table.

“I can. And I will.”

Hermes’ eyes went wide, his hands shooting up to appease the other god.

“All right, all right. I was just joking. I will swear that bloody oath if it means so much to you.”

As quickly as it had flared up, Hades’ magic died away. For a second, Cerberus looked up at him in confusion before he finally decided his assistance was no longer needed and returned to his cozy spot by the fireplace. 

Hades couldn’t wait to do the same, but first he would ensure Anthea’s safety here. He knew he couldn’t keep his brother from finding out about her whereabouts forever, but at least he could buy Hephaestus and her a little more time. Time they would need to figure out what to do next. And with the biggest tattler out of the way, they would have a few more days, maybe even weeks to do so.

In the morning, he would have to speak to Minthe as well. If it was true and she had told Hermes about Anthea, she would have to suffer the consequences of her actions.

Chapter 4

***

taglist:

@ashesofblackroses 🖤

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/27/2024: SCARAB

I always say that an interestingly bad movie is far better than a conventionally good movie, and SCARAB is here to prove that I'm right! I'm sure there's a major backstory on this vision of total insanity, and if you know what it is, please tell me. The producer of such films as GHOST, STRANGE DAYS, NEAR DARK, and MOTEL HELL directed what imdb describes as a movie in which "A former Nazi seeking to gain new power attempts to resurrect an ancient Egyptian god." This description could not possibly prepare you for what it is actually like to watch SCARAB.

The best way for me to review this movie would actually be to just describe every single thing that happens in it, in order. I genuinely wish I had time to do that. But basically, Rip Torn is a mad scientist who gets possessed by the scarab god Khepera, and goes about the business of assassinating world leaders in order to thrust the Earth into a new Dark Age to avoid nuclear war. I think. Robert Ginty plays Murphy, a journalist who is so horny that the next big journalism summit features a whole speech about how journalists shouldn't create public sex scandals. Murphy becomes aware of Khepera's evil plan, and stalks the living shit out of Elena (Cristina Pascual) who is a powerful psychic nurse who turns out to be Khepera's daughter. She basically handles the whole situation without any really necessary contributions from Murphy.

I had such a negative reaction reaction to Robert Ginty that I felt sort of bad about it. I love when he gets chased around by the laughing assassin who causes things to explode by pointing at them, but the movie's attempt to make him like a super sexual Indiana Jones is very offensive. Putting him on a motorcycle, putting him in bed with a sexy lingerie lady, putting cool-guy headphones on him, all this stuff only underlines how deeply and fundamentally uncool he is. I was so repulsed by him that I started to feel guilty, like maybe I'm just being terribly shallow; I mean some of it is definitely physical, the man is waspy and bland and has the bone structure of a Punch & Judy puppet. But here are some excerpts from his imdb page that made me feel a little better about my response to him.

Born in New York, rugged, virile, hard-looking action star Robert Ginty initially sought a career in music, becoming involved in several rock bands from age 16 on. [Long list of rock stars he hung out with that one time] He directed a rap/hip-hop musical version of Anthony Burgess' "A Clockwork Orange" to fine reviews. Once flew as passenger on a "VIP Flight" in F/A-18 Hornet with the Blue Angels.

OK you corny motherfucker, give it a rest already. In any case the real point of this movie is Rip Torn overseeing crazed black magic orgies and doing some of the strangest dance moves you have ever seen in your whole life. SCARAB is the kind of movie that you watch all of with your jaw in your lap, just passively letting it wash over you, because you really never know what you're going to see next. This is a major virtue in my book. There's also an odd competence to it, which I guess is accounted for by director Steven-Charles Jaffe's producorial chops; it's nicely shot, and the variety of interesting Spanish locations means that there is always something to look at, even when the fire-breathing cultists aren't writhing around on screen...but that very competence throws the extreme zaniness of the movie into even starker relief. SCARAB is an extraordinarily confusing movie, and in the era of used up, wrung out IPs and assembly line slop from streaming services, it's just the kind of movie we need.

[aslvt4ag]

Title: Healing Light

Parings Andrew Garfield Peter Parker x y/n fem reader

Wordcont 530

Warnings contains themes of grief, loss, and addiction (smoking). Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: Peter Parker, still grieving Gwen's death, encountering y/n in a dimly lit alley. Initially defensive, Peter is surprised by y/n's genuine concern and innocence. Despite her refusal to smoke, y/n offers her support to Peter, reminding him of Gwen's purity and light.

An ( I just wanted to do a little reader and Peter series )

Peter Parker scowled at his reflection in the mirror, his hand running through his unkempt hair. Gwen's death still weighed heavily on his mind, a constant ache that he couldn't escape. He had become bitter, resentful, and his once cheerful demeanor had been replaced by a cold, callous attitude.

Walking through the crowded streets of New York City, Peter barely registered the people around him. He was lost in his own thoughts, consumed by grief and anger. But then, amidst the chaos, he saw her – y/n. She was different, a ray of light in his dark world.

Despite his better judgment, Peter found himself drawn to her. But his natural instinct to push people away kicked in, and he treated her with his usual disdain. Yet, y/n was undeterred, her kindness and warmth breaking through his walls bit by bit.

As days turned into weeks, Peter found himself opening up to y/n in ways he never thought possible. She became his confidante, his anchor in the storm of his emotions. And in her presence, he started to feel something he hadn't felt in a long time – hope.

But old habits die hard, and Peter's asshole tendencies still surfaced from time to time. Yet, y/n saw through his facade, understanding the pain that lingered beneath the surface. And slowly but surely, she helped him heal, showing him that even in the darkest of times, there was still light to be found.

Peter Parker leaned against the brick wall of a dimly lit alley, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He took a drag, the smoke swirling around him like a shroud of darkness. He didn't care about the health risks; at that moment, all he wanted was to drown out the pain.

As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he noticed y/n standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She seemed out of place amidst the gritty backdrop of the alley, her demeanor far too innocent for the seedy environment.

"What are you looking at?" Peter snapped, his tone laced with irritation.

Y/n flinched slightly at his harsh words but didn't back down. "Sorry, I just... I saw you standing here alone and thought you might need someone to talk to."

Peter scoffed, taking another drag of his cigarette. "I don't need your pity," he muttered, his walls already starting to go up.

Y/n hesitated for a moment before taking a step closer. "I'm not here to pity you. I just... I know what it's like to feel lost and alone. And sometimes, talking to someone can help."

For a brief moment, Peter considered brushing her off. But there was something in y/n's eyes – a glimmer of understanding that he couldn't ignore. Despite her innocence, she seemed to carry a weight of empathy that reminded him of Gwen.

"Fine," he finally relented. "You got a smoke?"

Y/n shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "No, I don't smoke. But I'm here if you need someone to talk to."

As they stood in the alley, the contrast between them couldn't have been starker – Peter, with his rough exterior and world-weary gaze, and y/n, with her gentle demeanor and unwavering compassion. And in that moment, Peter couldn't help but be reminded of Gwen – pure, untainted, and full of light.

[sydneyshipsstuff]

answering both of the recent tag games in one since im lazy (so scroll for the questions below the bingo)

tagged by @professional-benaddict (sorry for responding so late lol) and because i dont have too many mutuals, tagging anyone who sees it & wants to do it!

I chose my baby Spider-Man/Peter Parkee, with a focus on the starker fandom!

1. How did you discover your fave?

spider-man movies -> video edits on insta/tiktok -> irondad fanfics on wattpad -> ao3 -> looking at starker in disgust -> becoming a part of the fandom

2. How long have you been a fan of your fave?

since homecoming! when it first came out but it took me a while to start interacting with the fandom

3. Do you write for your fave? (E.g. AU's, Drabbles, Fan Fics.)

sorta! i don't actively write, just kinda drabble sometimes and i mostly dont post that, plus helping others write, i do have drafts that have been in my docs for years though

4. Do you like what is canon about your fave?

i do but i feel bad for him! poor guy has nobody :((, but before endgame i was in love with canon.

5. Tell some of your headcanons of your fave.

•his spider abilities on top of the originals like purring, cant have peppermint, hibernates, etc

•his love of animals, always stopping on patrols to say hi to them or trying to keep the strays he finss

•being worthy of mjolnir and picking it up without knowing the significance

•that he worms his way into the hearts of everyone he meets

6. Do you draw for your fave? (E.g. Fan Art)

no i dont, but i love seeing others fan art obviously!

7. If your fave/s are portrayed by several actors, who are your fave portrayers?

basic, ik, but tommy.

8. Are you more into Books/ Comics/Films when it comes to your fave?

mostly the fanfics then anything, but the movies and comics are so entertaining.

9. Quote anything about what your fave has said.

this ones weird but when i went to new york i went out of my way to go to moma because of him mentioning it to tony

10. Quote your favourite line of your fave!

basic but the "When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you." because even though its sad/semi unhealthy to put that pressure on yourself, i relate to it in a way and uphold myself to helping whenever i can.

11. Ever made a edit for/of your fave?

i dont think so? maybe photos but that would have been a while ago

12. Songs you associate with your fave?

anything to do w new york really

13. If your fave was real, do you think they'd like you?

i think so, if we meant in a natural way lolol, i try to be social and i think id be able to joke with him

14. Amongst your fave/s who do you think are you? (E.g. You have 5 faves, amongst the 5 of them you think of yourself as fave no.3)

skipping because i only am answering for the one

15. Do you know your fave origin story?

yes i doo, radioactive spider bite, yada yada, parents dead, yada yada, uncle shot, rip, grew up in queens & stayed there

16. In 1 word describe your fave’s aesthetic.

akward

17. Is/Are your fave/s famous on A03?

yes very much, but mostly for irondad

18. Ships that you like with your fave?

i do like irondad if thats even considered a ship, peter w tony, harley, steve, stephen, and bucky, either seperate or at the same time, and im open to other pairings too

19. Is/Are your fave/s well known?

yes very well

20. If your fave/s have a fandom, what do you think about the fandom?

i like them, idk if theyd like me now that ive gone to the dark side lol

21. Describe yourself using something your faves have said

oops kinda did this already for another question but, "I am Responsible. I…Oh crap. My backpack’s gone." I try to be responsible but i am very clumsy and forgetful lol, and i do a lot of stupid shit

22. If you would feed your fave/s something, what would it be?

as big of a meal as i could possibly make, very carby, probably pasta, get some meat on those bones and feed the super apetite

23. How do you see yourself in any of your fave/s?

i see the optimism/ akwardness in myseld as well, we are semi-close in age so i think that contributes to it

24. Ever taken a break from your fave/s?

sorta, it was very short and it was mostly in between going from irondad to starker as well as small breaks i took from everything lol

25. If your fave/s were to have a crossover, who and which character would they have a crossover with?

well they did have one with stephen and the other spidermen but i think it would be cool to see him really interacting w the women of marvel, aka kate, yelena or natasha (also rip), pepper, captain marvel, america chavez, etc.

[peachbabypie]

b e t t y

Inspired by Chase Holfelder’s minor key cover of betty.

Sad Peter who has loved Tony for so so long, finally snaps on Tony’s wedding day. If Peter can’t have him? No one can.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Satine adds more than just a romantic parallel so i think she could still be obi wan's ideological foil and maybe even still be his ex. Obi Wan and Anakin could have those conversations and then later Anakin could see Obi Wan making moon eyes at Bail and realize Obi Wan is catching feels again and so on. Satine would still need to die or be defeated- Mandalore has to fall- but it would be less of a fridging. Meanwhile Bail could get into serious danger and Obi Wan could have to choose not to save him because the cost is too high, and then believe him to be dead for a while and feel horrible about it and be tempted by the dark side etc, while Anakin looks on on all this. And then of course Bail can't actually die.

@hermitmoss this is the main reason I'm not going to attribute it just to heteronormativity, even though i still feel like if either character had been a woman it would have been significantly more likely as a subplot. Because it does bring possible infidelity to the equation which does undermine Bail's perfect dad thing. On the other hand, in being a foil for anidala, it works all too naturally. Padme was supposed to be risking it all for Anakin, but people barely believe that. But Bail being married kinda does make it starker. (i mean, i guess one way it could work is a potential polyamory thing that's probably a bit avant-garde for most kid cartoon makers,) but the other is to make Bail and Breha primarily a political marriage, making it all about that love vs duty again. (But not a source of heartbreak for Breha.) That they're both leaders among their people and have sworn to service, and they truly would have to leave all of that behind if they wanted to act on their feelings. So they don't, they just experience some yearning and mutual admiration. idk.

I've said it before and I will say it again: as much as I like Satine, the only reason obitine was created as a foil to anidala instead of making Bail Organa and bailobi the romantic foils is cause they're cowards

Listen, they made up all this new material but a tcw love story between Bail and Obi Wan where they chose not to compromise their duties for their feelings, and the recontextualization of their RotS scenes with them still parting ways to protect the children... it writes itself. It weaves itself into the movies by itself.

[plueschpop]

• I‘m so lost •

[starkerhead]

A Lil’ Bit of Sugar

fill for @spooky-starker-week Bingo 2021: Trick or Treat Summary: “Peter, I dare you to go trick or treating at one of those pompous assholes’ mansions.”  Content: Starker, fluff Word Count: 1.2K Read on AO3 ♡: @momothequeen134 @winterthal @sarcastich @lemonpeter @bluestarker @babybatscreationsv2 @90minsofscreentime 

“Aren’t you guys a little old to be trick or treating?”

“It’s called ‘rebelling against social norms’,” MJ explained. “We’re protesting against the notion that childhood ends at the cusp of teenagehood, which punishes teens for indulging in any kind of innocent fun.” 

The man at the doorstep stared at her incredulously, then glanced at Ned and Peter, who were behind her. All three were clad in costume, holding pumpkin-shaped candy buckets like they were five and not fifteen. 

“Uhh, yeah, you’re not getting any candy from me. Find another house to raid.”

MJ flinched as the man slammed the door in her face. 

“What’s his deal?” she said in her usual deadpan voice.

They got back onto the pavement, continuing along the row of decorated townhouses. Cheers and laughter pierced the air as children ran in the streets. The Halloween decorations along the houses illuminated the darkness, the orange and white lights twinkling in their periphery. 

“We still had a good run,” Ned piped up, shaking his bucket which rattled with a good handful of mini candy bars. “Some of them were too polite to refuse.” 

MJ shook her head.

“Not good enough. We gotta go big, my dude. I’m not going home without a full bucket.” 

Peter was quiet as MJ and Ned continued to discuss their candy strategies. He examined the decorations of each house they passed by, taking note of the tacky displays and the ones he actually liked. One house had some particularly good-looking jack-o-lanterns, which he silently praised. It was nice to just bask in the moment, listening to his friends chattering while walking around town in a Spiderman costume. He felt like a kid again. 

As they turned a corner onto the next street, Peter yelped when he walked right into Ned. He was about to tell him off for stopping abruptly when he looked up and gaped at the sight in front of him: a long row of mansions, covered in the most extravagant decorations possible. Houses covered in neon lights and cobwebs, their yards filled with zombies and skeletons. Mechanical screams and cackles echoed in the distance. 

“Howard Beach,” MJ muttered. “Rich people territory.” 

There was silence as they took in the spectacle. A group of kids approached a coffin on one of the lawns, shrieking as an automated corpse burst from inside. 

“Well, you wanted the big guns, right?” Peter said. “Here’s your chance. I’m sure some of them could spare some full-size candy bars.”

MJ snorted. “Peter, I dare you to go trick or treating at one of those pompous assholes’ mansions.” 

“Maybe I will.”

“I’m serious, you know. I will hold you accountable.”

“And I am, too. Just pick a house and I’ll do it.” 

MJ surveyed the houses in front of them, contemplating for a moment. 

“That one.” She pointed towards the distance at the largest, most expensive-looking mansion on the street. 

Peter raised his eyebrows. 

“The only house that’s not decorated?” 

MJ nodded, her gaze taunting him. 

Maybe it was the superhero costume that gave him the courage, because before he knew what he was doing, Peter started towards the house. 

He didn’t realize how hard his heart was thumping until he stopped at the entrance. Through the gate, the edifice towered above him, and he suddenly found himself wanting to back away. It was a beautiful piece of architecture, with a double staircase leading up to the door and a goddamn fountain in the garden. 

How do people just live like this?

He sucked in a breath and buzzed the gate. Ned and MJ giggled behind him, adding to his nerves. 

To Peter’s surprise, the light of the buzzer turned green and the gate slid open. Peter looked back and flashed a grin of triumph at his friends, whose mouths were wide open. 

“See? I told you I could do it.” 

As he walked up the steps, a man appeared at the front door. Peter’s fingers trembled, and he thought of turning back, but MJ and Ned were watching him. 

And then he was standing at the doorstep, staring up at the most beautiful man he had ever seen. 

The man leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He looked to be in his fifties, his dark beard speckled with gray. He peered at him over his glasses, his piercing brown eyes making Peter want to shrink away. 

“What is it?” The man said, his tone firm. 

Peter’s mouth was suddenly dry. His grip on his pumpkin bucket tightened, making him recall what he was doing there in the first place.

“Uhh, trick or treat?”

The man cocked an eyebrow, and Peter swore a smirk was tugging at his lips. 

“Seriously?” his voice was amused. Peter could feel his cheeks heating up.

“I’m being very serious, sir.” 

The man stepped away, and for a split second Peter thought he was going to shut the door in his face. 

But he disappeared inside his house for several minutes, the front door still wide open. Was it an invitation for him to step inside? No, he probably shouldn’t go inside a stranger’s house. But what if he was being rude? 

Peter snapped back to reality when the man reappeared in front of him. His eyes widened at the sight of what the man had in his hands: a pile of full-size candy bars, and not just the common Hershey's bars either, but the expensive stuff, the fair-trade, luxury brand chocolates filled with caramel and ganache and everything else that Peter never dared to reach for on the shelves. The man dumped them into Peter’s pumpkin bucket, weighing it down with the sheer heft of the chocolates. 

“I scavenged what I could from the house. You can probably tell I don’t usually get trick or treaters, so it’s what I have on hand.”

Peter cleared his throat, his gaze wavering as he struggled to process what was happening. 

“N-no, yeah, it’s- it’s good. This is- this is amazing, actually. Thank you.”

He looked up to see the man smiling at him. Peter suddenly felt naked.

“Say hi to your friends for me.”

Peter turned to find the pair half-concealed behind a bush. They ducked their heads when they realized the man was looking at them, making Peter laugh. 

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Sorry for bothering you. It was- it was just a stupid dare. We don’t usually, you know, knock on rich people’s doors.”

Tony chuckled. 

“It’s alright, kid. Happy Halloween.” 

“You too, sir! Thank- thank you. So much.” 

Peter’s feet were wobbling as he descended the steps back to where his friends were waiting for him. 

“Dude, your face is bright red,” MJ said.

Peter ducked his head down, ignoring the comment as he showed his bucket to them. 

“Woah. I thought rich people were stingy,” Ned said.

“Apparently this one isn’t.” 

“Well, Peter, I have to say I underestimated you,” MJ said. “You’re clearly a master of seduction.”

“Shut up,” Peter said, turning away to hide the smile growing on his face. 

As they made their way back, MJ and Ned were once again locked in a heated discussion, while Peter hung back behind them. He kept his eyes on his feet, lost in thought as his brain kept wandering back to the mysteriously generous stranger with the sparkling brown eyes. 

He looked down at his bucket, his fingers ghosting over the bars of chocolate, the ones that had just been in the man’s hands moments ago. 

He wondered if he would ever see him again. 

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - The Beach War

Peter loves the sunshine.

He loves the sand under his toes, the little shore-line waves bumping against his ribs, he loves the sound of gulls swooping low, but he loves the sunshine most of all.

Steve warns him not to spend too much time out in the sun. Steve buys him sunscreen and umbrellas and hats.

But if the damning red crest over the bridge of his nose is anything to go by- Peter takes little heed.

“I’m going to aerobics,” Peter chirps sweetly, pouring coffee into Steve’s mug and reaching for his headband on a Tuesday morning.

His husband, in slacks and a still-unbuttoned shirt, looks up from the morning paper with a small, curious smile. “Didn’t you go yesterday?”

Peter nods, “I like it.”

“Alright. I suppose you deserve to enjoy yourself. Now that I’m officially a ballot candidate, thanks to you.”

Peter smiles warmly, reaching over to kiss Steve’s mouth and wipe the toast crumbs from his husband’s chin. “We all collected those signatures.”

Steve laughs at his modesty. “It’s one step closer to stopping Stark from destroying this town. I won’t rest till it’s done, Pete. Bucky’s coming over today, to help with the campaign.”

“Okay. Well, there’s lasagne in the fridge left over, will you two be alright?”

“Yeah.” His blue eyes run over Peter’s face. “Have you been wearing suncream?”

“Yes,” Peter lies, but is it really a lie? He tries to. He does, at least like, 50% of the time. Maybe 40.

Steve accepts it easily, and kisses Peter again, and then Peter’s out of the door and into the sunshine and free.

***

Class is perfect. Adrenaline-pumping, vibrant, fantastic, and it fills Peter with energy and when it’s over, dripping with sweat as he heads into the cool, air-conditioned bliss of the mall and wiggles his toes in his shoes.

He’s free the whole day.

He’s going to spend it in the water. On the beach.

He buys a danish from the new mall store, and is heading for the automatic doors when it catches his eye.

A familiar face. Or rather, fifteen of that unfamiliar face, splashed across a display for the new colour tvs. Beck. Peter stops despite himself and watches through the glass as fifteen Quinten Beck’s lecture on how environmental restrictions are really just restricting progress.

Peter takes another bite of his Danish and warm icing dribbles down his fingers. He licks it off angrily. Ugh, Beck. He was a dick in college, and he’s an even bigger dick now. What did Peter ever see in him?

He scoffs, turning away, only to come face-to-face with-

Oh. Handsome. Very handsome. Peter can’t help but be a little winded at the tanned skin, groomed hair and expensive suit and then-

Oh. Shit. It’s Tony Stark. Is it? It must be. It looks like him from the papers, and the interviews and- Yes. Yes, it is. The camera’s, already flattering, still don’t do him justice. It’s Tony Stark. Standing right here, in the mall that he had all those trees chopped down to make.

“You seemed drawn to him, and then you scoffed. It doesn’t speak to you?”

Peter blinks. Stark’s voice is lovely. Smooth. Just how it sounds in the adverts. “Oh!” Peter hums, hastily swallowing his mouthful of Danish. Stark’s eyes are roving over him- not even subtly. What is he looking for? Peter shifts a little in his workout gear. These shorts are very short, he must look- there’s probably icing on his lips and- “I don’t- I wasn’t drawn to him.” Peter insists, “I just know him- uh, Beck. I know him in real life.”

“I see,” Stark grins, eyes all amused, “do you have one?”

Peter blinks. He watches Tony’s eyes dip over his form once again. Rest on his lips. Peter licks them reflexively. He knows Tony isn’t married, but- “I do. I’m uh- I’m married. Sorry.”

Tony laughs, and Peter feels his cheeks flush. “I meant: do you have a colour tv? I know you’re married.”

Peter frowns. How is that possible- oh. He glances at his ring and manages a little laugh. “Perceptive.” He hums.

Tony lifts an eyebrow, a little quizzically. “No.” He says slowly,  “I know who you are, Peter Rogers. I saw the “Save our Wave” campaign. You and your husband. Smart way to launch. Ocean in the background. You looked….radiant.”

Oh god. Tony Stark knows who he is.

Peter brushes his hair behind his ears and doesn’t know what to say. “Uh...thank you.”

Tony grins. “Good ad. But it won’t be enough. It can’t stop progress.” Tony steps forward, so they’re a little closer than what’s proper, and his voice drops into something lower. His fingers graze Peter’s bare shoulder. “But I’m not sure you want to stop progress, do you, pumpkin?”

Is he talking about his aerobics outfit? Or the fact he was watching colour tv? Or the fact that he’s in the mall, having just finished a mall class, eating a mall-pastry, and watching mall-tv? Despite the fact that he’s supposedly against the mall.

Peter ignores the ripple of goosebumps that spread across his skin. He lifts his nose, but Tony still towers over him. “I do not agree wih Quinten Beck.” He snaps. “I’m sorry, but we do care about the environment. And we’re not going to have our beach destroyed for another mall.”

He pulls away then, pushing past Tony.

“Peter,” Tony says, and he can’t help but look back. Tony stands there, stupidly handsome, hands in his pockets, and his voice is as cool as the ocean-breeze when he says, “If I were married to you, I’d put you in my campaign videos too. You’ve got a face that changes minds, sweetheart.”

Another furious, heated blush, and Peter bumbles out into the sunshine.

Beach. He needs to go to the beach. Stat.

***

Peter’s freckles always make their debut in the LA Summer.

He serves a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade as he, Steve and Bucky take lunch out on the patio.

Bucky and Steve are pressed close together. It’d be odd, if it wasn’t so commonplace. But Peter expects it now. They’re childhood friends. It’s fine, probably. He tries not to think about it too much. Because he knows Steve. And Steve is kind and loyal, and even if he wanted to- he wouldn’t cheat on Peter.

Unfortunately, Peter thinks Steve might want to. More and more lately, now that Bucky’s basically been living here to help with the campaign.

“Thanks, Sweatpea,” Bucky murmurs, as Peter refills his glass.

For the man who’s stealing away his husband, Peter should probably like Bucky less. “No problem, James. Do you guys want more pecan pie?”

“It’s alright, sugar. Steve and I will eat at the community luncheon.”

Peter blinks. He turns to Steve, who looks away bashfully.

“What?” Bucky asks, reading their faces.

“We were invited to the Harrisson’s gala this afternoon.” Peter points out, still looking at Steve’s face, “it’s a great opportunity to raise some funds-”

“It’s a stuck up crowd,” Bucky points out, not incorrectly, “not exactly who we want associated with Steve’s campaign.”

“Right,” Peter hums, because Steve had a choice between him and Bucky, and Bucky’s already won.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Steve says earnestly, reaching his large hand across the table to take Peter’s. Bucky looks away. “I just feel the luncheon has a lot more to offer. You can go to the gala by yourself, can’t you? You’re more than amazing without me dragging you down.”

Not true. Peter thinks, because as much as he loves being free, Steve’s all-American home spun wholesomeness always leaves a trail of admirers.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “You guys have fun.”

He collects the rest of the dishes and takes them inside, unaware that he has a Bucky-shaped shadow until he’s corned next to the kitchen sink.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, bowing his head, and Peter half-smiles. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I knew you guys had already-”

“It’s alright.” Peter says softly, “I think he would rather be with you anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to his, ice-blue and frightened and hopeful. “Pete…” he says, voice a little raw. “It’s not…”

“You guys alright in there?” Steve calls from outside.

Peter ducks under Bucky’s arm, and it isn’t very difficult to make his voice bright when he calls back: “Just fine!”

***

The Harrison’s own a ridiculously nice estate, and Peter only feels a little out of place. He’s in the dark blue silks he brought with him to LA all those years ago, and Mr Harrisson greets him warmly at the door.

It’s...better than he thought it would be. It turns out he doesn’t really need Steve. At all, actually. He’s clever and he has his degree and he knows a lot about the environment. People like him. They respond to him. It’s-

“Just look at you,” comes a whistle, and Peter turns slowly to see Tony Stark in a tuxedo.

Fuck. It’s a very tasty sight. Tastier than the crab rolls being handed out, and they were pretty damn incredible.

“You’re just working the room, aren’t you, honey?” Tony drawls, voice dripping with appreciation and something low and dark and-

“I’m uh, I’m trying,” Peter manages, feeling his cheeks flush.

Tony looks like he wants to step closer, but he doesn’t. Peter kind of- maybe a little- wants him too. “And where’s your very lucky husband?”

“Oh, he’s...he’s not here.”

Tony’s eyes light up. “Really? Well, how about you and me get some air?”

The Harrison’s house sits on the beach, and Peter kicks off his shoes and is pulled down onto the sand as easy as breathing.

God, the ocean air. He rolls up his trousers, sinks his feet into the cold, trembling waves.

“Just look at you,” Tony hums, and Peter turns to see he’s being watched, and Tony’s skin looks even better lit by the sunset.

“You said that already,” he points out, feeling bolder, braver, now that he’s out on the beach.

“Well, maybe that’s because I can’t stop looking at you.”

Peter blushes, before stepping into the water a little further. “Are you going to join me? Or do you hate the ocean as much as you claim?”

Tony obligingly toes off his shoes. “Never said I hated the ocean. Don’t get me mixed up with Beck. I just know that sometimes we’ve gotta sacrifice things in the name of progress. Technology. The future.”

Tony pulls off his bowtie, slips off his jacket, and then comes and wades into his knees.

“Gotta sacrifice things,” Peter echoes, “like the ocean. Like trees. Who needs ‘em, right? They only give us oxygen.”

Tony grins at him. “You’re a firecracker, aren’t you, Peter? I thought you liked my mall. Or wasn’t that you? In that gorgeous little aerobics get up? Eating one of those danishes- to die for, aren’t they? Wasn’t that you, sighing at a colour tv?”

Peter scoffs because he doesn’t have a comeback, and he glances out at the horizon.

“You were mine, sweetheart, you’d be purring away with that tv at your feet. I’d buy you a hundred if you wanted ‘em. You wouldn’t want for anything.”

Jesus. Peter tries to stifle the flood of arousal that courses through him. “I’d be wanting for a husband that cared about protecting our coast line.” He manages, though it sounds a little weak.

“The coast line,” Tony hums, reaching a hand down to plunge into the water. “The beach. You a surfer?”

“No, I just...I like the beach, it makes me feel…” free “...it’s the beach. It’s nature. It’s not for us to bend and re-shape for another mall, Tony.”

Tony chuckles, “I do like to hear you say my same.”

Peter scowls, and heads back for the sand. A few splashes later, Tony follows. “You can’t...I don’t know, you can’t seduce me into supporting you.”

Tony’s hand grips around his wrist just before Peter reaches his shoes, and he’s looking up into very dark brown eyes, and a very, very appealing mouth. “I’m not trying to change your mind.” Tony murmurs, “I’m just trying to see where it is you stand. You like the mall, you didn’t mind the trees being cut down there, but the beach. The beach is where you have a problem. It’s your line.”

“It-it’-it’s not about me.” Peter stutters, feeling exposed, “My husband is the one running for-”

“And I am trying to seduce you. Have been since I saw you in that advert. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Thought they’d hired a model at first, and then I found out you were married to him. I couldn’t believe it.”

Oh. Warmth buzzes through his skin, flattered and delighted and giddy, Peter doesn’t know what in the name of hell possesses him to say: “He’s not going to be my husband for much longer.”

Tony’s eyebrows lift in surprise. Then he smirks. His hand is still wrapped around Peter’s wrist. “That so?”

A few other guests pull out onto the beach now, and Peter spots Mrs Harrisson in the distance.

“Save our wave, Mr Stark,” he whispers, unable to stop smiling, as he gathers his shoes and heads over.

***

He and Steve have sex that night.

It’s the best sex they’ve had in a long time. Passionate, erotic, and Peter knows why. It’s because he was just with Tony, and Steve was just with Bucky, and they’re both pretending.

Afterwards, still warm from the haze, they look at one another.

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” Steve whispers, voice-choked up, and Peter brushes away his tears.

“Don’t be. Where you are, it’s where I am. You and Bucky are made for each other.”

“You have someone too?” Steve asks. Peter nods. “Okay. Okay, but not till...not till after the campaign. Divorce…” the word makes him jerk a little, and Peter soothes him, “it could rock things.”

“After the campaign,” Peter nods, and they sleep in each other’s arms, and maybe it shouldn’t feel like everything’s going to be okay, but it does.

***

Steve annihilates Tony in the televised debate.

Peter knew he would. Tony is clever and pithy, but Steve is earnest, and kind, and people can see that. They can feel that. Tony handles it as well as he can, but it’s clear by the end of the interview- Steve is ahead.

Peter swims back towards the shore.

He’s still wet as he pads into the mall and heads for the pastry-store.

“I’ll get that,” Tony says, appearing from nowhere and handing over the money before Peter can fish his wallet from his ocean-wet shorts.

Tony’s hand is on the small of his back then, guiding him towards the food court, and soon Peter’s eating his pastry on a plastic red chair, and looking at Tony with wide, innocent eyes.

Tony breaks first.

“So, your husband’s campaign is a little stronger than I thought.”

Peter laughs. The sound seems to make Tony light up, and that just- Peter’s stomach tightens.

“My advisor’s are a little worried.”

“Steve is very good.” Peter agrees, taking another bite.

Tony leans across the table, and his cologne makes Peter want. “I’m better, though, Pete, is the thing.”

“Are we still talking about the campaign?”

“Let’s get dinner.” Tony says suddenly, “please. I know it’s early, but I am burning with it, Pete. I think about you all the time, I can’t keep staking out beaches and malls hoping to run into you.”

“What if someone sees us? What about Steve’s campaign-”

“It’d hurt mine just the same. Who gets the sympathy? The man being cheated on, or the man who slept with a married guy?”

Peter pulls the pastry apart with his fingers. “Just dinner?”

“At my house.”

Peter laughs, scandalised, “dinner at your house? How easy do you think I am?”

“Not easy at all. You’re fucking difficult, sweetheart. Look at what you’re wearing, fuck, it’s like you want to torture me.”

Peter tries not to blush and fails. His voice is gentle though, when he voices his main concern: “And what happens if once you’ve...once we’ve...what happens then? Curiosity satisfied, you might not want to see me anymore.”

Tony reaches across the table to touch Peter’s hand. Peter looks around worriedly, but nobody is paying them any mind.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Tony whispers, more serious than Peter has ever seen him. “Peter, I would never get bored of you.”

“It’s happened before,” Peter says weakly, and doesn’t realise how true it is until it’s spoken aloud. The pain for the divorce yet to happen ripples across his chest. Oh god, where has this been? Someone loved him once, and then found someone else-

“I’m gonna crush him.” Tony vows, voice vicious, as soon as he spots the glitter of Peter’s tears. “I’m going to destroy his campaign-”

“No, no,” Peter insists, sniffling, and managing a small smile. “Steve is- he’s a good guy, Tony. A good guy with a good cause, you don’t need to,” Peter huffs fondly, “you don’t need to protect my honour.

“Alright,” Tony says, a little bit like he’s unconvinced, so Peter squeezes his hand.

“I want to have dinner with you. I want to feel your hands on me- I- I think about it all the time. And afterwards, I want...more.” Peter looks down at their hands. “You said you’d get me anything.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispers, “I’m going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

***

The mall gets made.

In the next town over. The beach is saved. Steve wins.

They divorce.

Steve hugs him. Bucky hugs him. There’s a lot of crying, but then Peter’s being picked up in a ludicrously nice hot-red car, and there’s Tony and kissing and a house in Malibu right on the sand.

There’s a wedding, and teasing, and arguments. There’s sex. A lot of sex. There’s swimming and living and life under the sun.

There’s a thousand things. A million things.

And every day with Tony promises more.

When Peter wakes up, ready for the beach, Tony slathers him with suncream and for some reason it doesn’t feel like he’s trapped.

Maybe it was never about the suncream.

He still loves the beach. And the sunshine. And the gulls swooping low and the sand under his toes, but-

But he doesn’t need it to feel free. He feels free right here, in bed, tangled up with Tony and the promise of more.

[khalixascorner]

This but make it starker? And for fun make it dark Peter who wants to hurt anyone and everyone that's ever hurt Tony

“I’d kill for you. Please ask me to kill for you.” “No.” Is a top tier ship dynamic no I do not take criticism

[khalixascorner]

Surrender

Summary: Villain Iron Man had captured the little spider and was training him to be his perfect pet. Only his pet decided to misbehave. Fill for SF Summer Bingo B3 Sub in Training.

Tags: Starker, nff, Sub in Training, Unwilling Pet Peter, Dark Tony, Dark Steve Rogers, mentioned Winter Soldier, Peter being punished, No Sex, but sexual style punishment, crops

Read on AO3

Tony walked in, exhausted from a long day of meetings but looking forward to the entertainment he had planned for the night.

“Everything prepared, J?” Tony asked.

“Yes sir, the Captain and the Soldier did as asked before leaving,” JARVIS replied. “You’ll also find dinner waiting on the table if you’d like to eat first.”

“Nah, I want dessert first,” Tony said with a smirk. He picked up his pace, heading for the playroom without even bothering to get comfortable first.

The sight when he opened the door was enough to get him hard just by looking. His new pet was tied down to a breeding bench, ass high in the air and legs forced open to expose as much as possible. His tight hole was clenched around a plug that Tony himself had designed. It would balloon on the inside, and had a variety of functions from small shocks to temperature changes. 

Even from the door, Tony could see the cage on his cock and the clamps on his balls. He walked around the bench, noting the chains that ran from the ball clamps to his chest with a grin. Given how tightly Peter was pressed against the bench, Tony could only imagine how much pain the nipple clamps were causing too. 

When he reached the boy’s head, he stopped to take in the absolutely wrecked look on his face. Tears streaked his cheeks and drool dripped steadily from the cock gag shoved in his mouth. The black leather collar around his neck was lifted just enough to prevent him from resting comfortably.

Tony slid his hand along Peter’s face gently, wiping away some of the tears even as he admired the quality of the collar with its white gold tags declaring him the property of Tony Stark.

“Cap says you tried to go outside without permission again, Peter,” Tony said. He made a disappointed tutting sound as he pulled his hand away from the boy’s face. “You know better than to leave without permission, don’t you?”

Peter quickly nodded and sobbed, a garbled sound coming out from the gag. No doubt he had an explanation, or at least an excuse, but Tony wasn’t interested in hearing it.

“You know the rules, Pet. I really had thought we were past this but apparently you need a reminder of what happens when you don’t obey,” Tony said, stepping towards the wall to grab one of the crops that hung there.

Peter started sobbing harder, flailing against the bindings, but Tony wasn’t concerned. The restraints had been designed specifically for their little spider, and he had yet to slip them even when under extreme duress.

“Now now, none of that,” Tony chided. “You knew the consequences, and even if there had been a valid reason, you could have asked JARVIS to log it or could have reported it to Cap or the Soldier. Since you chose not to do so, you’ve earned your punishment one way or the other. Either you tried to leave without permission, or you failed to communicate a problem.”

Peter sagged as much as his bindings would let him, all of the fight leaving him, and Tony ran a gentle hand down his pet’s back. He stopped when he reached the rougher skin of his brand, an arc reactor pattern with T. S. initialed in the center. It sat at the small of Peter’s back, and was just another reminder of who the spider belonged to. He loved running his fingers over it when he fucked his pet.

Abruptly, he stepped back and swung the crop without warning.

Peter whimpered as Stark pulled him off the bench and into his arms. His backside ached and burned even as his healing kicked in and started to mend it. The clamps tugged painfully but he didn’t dare complain. It had been foolish to try to leave, and he knew the consequences.

“Good boy, you took your punishment so well,” Stark murmured as he carried Peter out of the playroom and into the living room. “All is forgiven.”

**************

Peter couldn’t help the way his body relaxed slightly at Stark’s forgiveness and praise. He hated it, but it felt like he could do nothing about how conditioned he had become over the months he had been Stark’s unwilling pet. Fresh tears slid down his cheeks and he buried his face into the man’s shoulder.

“Oh little spider,” Stark said with a sigh as he settled them on the couch. Peter curled up on his lap, face still tucked firmly into the Dom’s shoulder. He wasn’t ready to face the other man yet, as Stark always managed to leave him feeling off balance and unsure.

The Dom ran his hands up and down Peter’s body soothingly, unclipping the clamps as he did. Peter slowly relaxed under the gentle touch until he was practically limp in Stark’s arms.

“That’s better, now how about you tell me why you decided to break the rules all of a sudden,” Stark said, one of his hands cupping Peter’s face and forcing him to look at the Dom.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just- I was people watching and I thought, I thought I saw Aunt May,” Peter whispered, his voice breaking on May’s name. “And I just had to see if it was her.”

“Peter, you know she died,” Stark said firmly. “I even let you attend her funeral.”

“I know, sir, and I’m sorry,” Peter replied, trying to pull in on himself but unable to move due to Stark’s hand holding his face tightly. “I just, I was so sure it was her. It looked so much like her that I had to check.”

Peter closed his eyes, unable to take the man’s scrutiny on top of the emotional upheaval of the day. Stark was silent for some time before he sighed again.

“And was it her, little spider?” Stark asked, finally letting go of his face.

“No,” Peter croaked, his whole body trembling as he tried to hold back the sobs. “No, it was just a stranger.”

“While I don’t condone your behavior, I do understand it, little spider,” Stark said as he ran a hand through Peter’s hair. He cuddled Peter gently, letting him cry in his arms until the broken sobs lessened to soft sniffles.

“I trust we won’t have a repeat of this incident,” Stark said, and Peter nodded. The brief spark of hope had been so painfully crushed. Peter couldn’t go through that again.

Peter continued to cuddle with Stark until the man decided he was done, and instead carried Peter to his room.

“Are you going to behave for me now?” Stark asked as he arranged Peter on the bed.

“Yes, sir,” Peter replied, already surrendering himself mentally to whatever Stark wanted. For once, Peter was grateful that it was so easy to slip into that headspace where the only thing that mattered was following Stark’s instructions.

“Good boy.”